from her to attach more value to those little things than I once did. Those paper ornaments on the mantelpiece are also her work as well as these ottomans. She spends a great portion of her time in decorating the house with such memorials of her kindness!" and Hal looked so deplorably sentimental that I had some difficulty to restrain a laugh.

Suddenly a large, heavy object plunged from the open window into my lap, surprising a scream from me and startling me from my seat. It was a huge old cat, which, as I arose, clung to my dress with its strong, sharp claws. Though I had none of the popular antipathy to its tribe, rather esteeming them for their sober, domestic properties, yet as pets, having grown an adept among babies, I no longer regarded them as very interesting. So I struck the animal a gentle tap and made an effort to shake it down.

"Oh, don't," said Harriet, taking it in her arms; "it is Melinda's pet, and it quite wounds her feelings to know that any one does not like its familiarities."

"Talking of pets," said I, "where do you keep your birds, Harriet?-and Tartar, the Newfoundland favourite, where is he?"

"I have put Tartar out to board," returned she, attempting to smile, and colouring a little. "You may imagine how hard it went with me to send him off the premises, poor Frederick was so fond of him," and she drew her hand across her eyes. "But Tartar always had an aversion to cats, and it required constant watching to keep him from worrying Muffy here. Melinda had quite a horror of him; and, as she was my guest, of course it was my duty to rid her of such a source of annoyance by sending Tartar away.'

66

Why did you not remind her of the adage, if you love me, you must love my dog'?" asked I.

She went on without noticing my interruption. "As to the Canary-birds and goldfinches, Muffy here can give you the best answer," and she affectionately folded up one of the cat's ears; "she caught a prejudice against them from her mistress. Melinda disliked the noise of their singing, and often grew quite out of patience to see me waste so much time and attention on things that she considered so useless. And, indeed, they did require a great deal of care, particularly in the summer; they never seemed to do so well after the vines were removed, and it was quite a charge to be moving them about two or three times a day. But what I was going to say is, that Muffy got into the cages one after another and destroyed them all. How she could open them was a question to me, and I have pretty strong reasons to suspect that her mistress helped her. I have teased her about it, and she will neither deny nor confirm the charge."

The bell rang for tea, and Harriet led me out to the eating-room, sending a summons to Miss Melinda, and punctiliously deferring the operations of the table till she had appeared.

"I should be quite ashamed of the retrenchments in the supply of my table, which may strike you, my dear Mary," said she, "if I were not able to give the best motives for them. Melinda is very dyspeptic, and the sight of food of which she cannot partake makes her either sick or quite nervous; and when she has expressed a wish that it could be kept out of her sight, it would be very unkind in me to bring it before her for my own indulgence."

The matter was one of indifference to me. I knew, however, that in times past Harriet herself had been a little given to gourmandize, and I well remember with what a variety of tit-bits she liked to cover even the tea-table in her early housekeeping. There certainly was a falling off in the bill of fare.

"I have just been telling how you suffer from dyspepsia, Melinda dear," pursued she when the invalid had presented herself, "and how it annoys you to see a profuse table.”

"So it does; it is very disgusting to see people pampering their appetites: nobody ought to eat of anything except what is needed to keep soul and body together."

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"But if all should confine themselves to what is absolutely necessary," began I, philosophically, when an appealing look from Harriet checked me; and Melinda, after glancing at me with distended nostrils, rapidly stirred her tea, into which she had broken a piece of dry toast. Now, is it possible," exclaimed she, stopping short and fixing her eyes on Harriet's plate with a dog-in-the-manger scowl, "that you have taken a slice of that cold ham after all that you have heard me say about the folly of people ruining their digestion by eating meat more than once a day!" and the little widow, with a smile and a word of good-humoured excuse, pushed her plate aside.

When tea was over, Harriet affectionately escorted Melinda back to her chamber-that inflexible lady having resisted her entreaties to remain down stairs-and then rejoined me in the parlour.

"I should propose a walk," said she, "only that the road is very dusty just now, and it is the only promenade we can conveniently get at."

I remarked that what was once the lawn appeared to be inaccessible, and asked if she remembered the pleasant strolls we had had over it.

"Oh, yes; I have forgotten nothing of those dear old times," she answered, with a sigh. "I was rather reluctant to have that fence run across, though as I hardly consider the ground my own property since it has been under cultivation, I gave up to the expediency of it. That lawn lying idle was a piece of extravagancedon't you think so? My friends, Melinda and others, convinced me of it by proving that it would be quite a little fortune to the poor if properly managed."

"And so you make use of it for charitable purposes," rejoined I. Very commendable; and the more so that it must have been a great sacrifice to you."

"Don't misunderstand," said Harriet, correctingly; "I merely repeated one of the arguments used to convince me of the unthriftiness of keeping it uncultivated. When I agreed that it might be ploughed up, Melinda thought I might as well let my friends have the use of it, as I did not need it myself, particularly as there was no such rich land nearer town; so the Huffs took the upper part for growing sugarbeets: you can have no idea of the immense crop it yielded last year. The Thwackereys took that part to the right for potatoes, and two or three other families have portions in corn, turnips, and ruta-baga."

Since the first ten minutes after my arrival, I had not heard a single sentence unconnected with "dear Melinda," and I could no longer resist asking the question uppermost in my mind. While reflecting for a moment how to word it with proper delicacy, I involuntarily took up a book from the table beside me.

"You will not find any work here new to you," said Harriet, observing the movement; "I have almost given up books since I was persuaded to abandon entertaining reading; I formerly indulged myself quite too much in it, and Melinda found it necessary to reason with me on the subject, and point out to me the impropriety of a woman of my condition wasting her time in frivolous acquirements. It is her opinion that people read quite too much now-adays, and that books ought only to be resorted to on particular occasions, when one is in want of certain useful information. So we have locked up all the books in the little library, except a few that she thought would be safe for me. I am trying to acquire a taste for the Rambler,' but I never can read more than half an essay at a time; and as to Locke on the Understanding,' did you ever read it, Mary?"

I burst into a laugh, she looked so solemn under the weight of her new literary obligations, and after a struggle she joined me, in perfect likeness of her former self.

"You are not in the least changed, Mary," said she; "just as full of mischief as ever. It is a long time since I have indulged in a hearty laugh; I am afraid you will spoil me."

"Now tell me, my dear Hal," said I; "before you lose that familiar look again, what was it that brought about your present connection with Melinda Moon?"

"Then you remember our injustice to her in our younger days," she returned, shaking her head and again looking demure; "what sad, unthinking creatures we were, and how we delighted to throw ridicule upon one whom we could not appreciate. It was in my time of trouble that I learned to understand Melinda. When I lost Frederick-poor fellow !—I felt so desolate and miserable that I quite resigned myself to despair. The more my friends-our old set-condoled with me, and the more tenderly they attempted to console me, the more melancholy I became. I at last shut myself up here and refused admittance to every one; but Melinda came and would not be refused: she

forced her way to my room in spite of the servants. I begged her to go and let me die in peace."

"And she told you, you would not die till your time was come," interrupted I, picturing to myself Melinda Moon as a comforter.

"Her very words," proceeded Harriet; "and I was so surprised and incensed, that somehow I forgot my grief long enough to listen to her. She remonstrated with the greatest severity, and as you know how plainly and pointedly she talks, you may imagine her expressions."

"She told you that many a better woman than yourself had lost her husband, did not she? and that many a better man had died than Fred Ellery; that it was a pity you had not been left without a dollar, that you might have been obliged to keep your wits about you, and that no one would pity you any the more for your making a fool of yourself!""

Exactly; I perceive you understand Melinda," she returned, with continued solemnity; "and you can't think how it composes one to be talked to by a person who does not show a grain of sympathy. She declared she would not leave the house till I came to my senses, andto confess how ungrateful I was for her kind intentions-I came down stairs at once, thinking she would go the sooner. She remained several days; we were constantly together, and I got quite used to what people call her odd ways. I was soon convinced of the real interest she took in me and my concerns, and became quite attached to her, and the more so the longer she stayed."

"The old strong necessity of loving,' thought I.

"In course of time," concluded Harriet, "she was quite domesticated with me, and at length naturally came to regard this as her home."

"And what did the 'old set' think of your choice of an inmate ?" I asked.

"Some of them were censorious enough to say that she pushed herself upon me to save boarding, but Melinda is above minding such paltry scandal. For my own part, I have very little intercourse with them. When I refused to admit visitors, some of them were offended by repeated denials, and others, through delicacy, remained away a considerable time, and when they came again, Melinda did not hesitate to let them know pretty plainly what she thought of friends who could be induced by any repulse to desert a woman in affliction. This gave great offence, and now very few of them come out, and I seldom go into town except on business. But you must not suppose that I am without society. Melinda's friends are my friends, and there is scarcely a day that some of the Thwackereys and Thorns, and others of that circle, do not make us a visit, and as you are my friend, they will of course become very fond of you, and you of them."

The conversation now turned to my concerns, and by looking and laughing like my early confidante, Harriet beguiled me of an important family-affair, in which others were involved as

There was an indistinct grumble, and then the command, "At any rate, don't be so foolish as to ask him to stay to dinner."

Frank had matured to a remarkably finelooking fellow, even beyond my expectations; his manners had grace and manliness, and in his dress the plain and well-worn, though neat garb of the poor student, had given place to habiliments of unexceptionable taste and fashion. Whilst addressing Harriet, indeed, he appeared a little flurried and undecided, but that was easily accounted for by the existing state of affairs. As to my friend herself, her blushes coming and going, her shyness, and the gaiety she assumed to cover it, made her look more interesting and less like Melinda Moon than I had yet seen her. Here was a suitable case for the interference of a true friend, I thought; and however much I disaffected match-making as a common practice, I decided that it would be altogether praiseworthy, if undertaken, to save the poor little widow from the thraldom of a friendship as pitiable as Titania's fascination with Bottom.

Frank sat as long as he decently could, and after he had arisen to go, lingered and loitered in evident hope that he would be invited to remain, or at least to call again; but Harriet had the fear of her monitress before her eyes, and no invitation was given. My part was now to begin.

"I shall occasionally need a beau whilst I am in the country," said I; "have you any objection to offering me your services?"

Frank's countenance brightened as much as if I had really been the object of his solicitude, while he expressed himself "too happy-too much favoured." I then proposed that he should call the next day and drive me to pay some visits; or the next, if I should not be ready; or, in case I should need him, every day he was at leisure. His gratitude increased at each amendment, and Harriet looked demure and quite amazed at the liberties I was taking. Melinda, who appeared to have been listening at the head of the stairs, put several sarcastic questions to me as to the new fashion of married women inviting the attentions of single men, and all day was peculiarly pungent in her strictures on propriety towards Harriet.

The next morning the fair widow, who would have been shocked at the imputation of changing her dress through compliment to a gentleman, appeared at breakfast in a very becoming wrapper, which Melinda stigmatized as that abominable gingham she had always despised and detested, and at a reprehensibly early hour Frank Hardie's buggy stood at the gate.

You are surely not going down again, Harriet Ellery!" exclaimed Melinda, rolling up

"Then say nothing about her, if you don't choose," retorted Melinda; one thing is clear-if you see him to-day, you must tomorrow, and so on to the end of the chapter; and, Harriet Ellery! if you find yourself scandalized as a flirting, marrying widow, remember you have had warning. I wash my hands of your conduct."

"I can't go, Mary," said Harriet, tremulously; "Melinda is right. I should never forgive himself if anything unpleasant should happen from neglect of her advice. I'll stay here with you; so don't be offended, Melinda dear." Then I may take it for granted that you are indifferent about offending me, Harriet Ellery ?" said I, assuming Melinda's tone and manner; "I should have supposed that proper regard for me would have insured a friend of mine at least common civility."

Harriet looked frightened, and then stood perplexed and irresolute. "If I could only gratify you both!" said she, while Melinda drew down the corners of her mouth, and contemptuously turned her shoulder towards me. Harriet begged that some compromise might be thought of, and at last I conceded that if she made her appearance on each of Frank's visits for a decorous display of politeness as mistress of the house, I should be content. So, that the arrangements might have an unconcerted aspect, she was to come in one day when it was time for his call to be half over, and the next when he first entered, and then withdraw with a reasonable excuse.

The plan succeeded well. Frank contrived to make each successive interview with Harriet a little longer than the last; and believing, in a week or two, that I could leave him to the support of his own attractions, I prepared for my return home. By this time I was quite worn out with the humours of Melinda Moon, who grew more and more unreasonable after she had once seen her sway over Harriet disputed.

I had endeavoured to draw a promise from my friend to return my visit at a certain fixed time, but as yet had received no decisive answer. On the morning of my departure, Frank had called to bid me good-by, and after he had gone, she came into my room drying tears from her cheeks. Presuming that they were caused by the prospect of parting with me,

I was unusually affectionate, when she remarked, "I have just had a conversation with Melinda on the subject of Frank Hardie's visits. I now feel that I have acted rather imprudently, and that if I should allow him to continue them it would be highly indecorous-that is, if he should come again. I cannot be charged with want of respect to you, when you are no longer the object of his calls, and I have distressed Melinda so much, that I am anxious to soothe her by declining to receive him."

I was too much vexed to reply, and she resumed, "As to my visit to you, my dear Mary, you may expect it at the appointed time. I have at length prevailed upon Melinda, and at the end of three months I hope you will see us."

Us!

"I anticipate a delightful trip," she continued; "and only regret that while you make it now, you cannot have such a companion as Melinda."

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I hurried after my baggage, which had been taken to the carriage, felt Melinda's stiff jerk of the hand as I passed her, and returned the affectionate embrace of Harriet. Stop, my dear Mary!" called the latter, as I seated myself in the vehicle, "you have forgotten to kiss Melinda."

I kissed my hand as I was driven off, ready to resolve that I would never again have a friend that had another friend in the world.

A month or two afterward I received a letter

from Harriet, one-half of which was made up of lamentations on the absence of Melinda, who had gone to be with a relation about to depart this transitory life at the age of eighty. "Not that she was needed to nurse the old lady, but that her sense of justice required her to go. There was some property to be left, which she thought she might as well have as any one else." The other part of the letter was, principally, an extenuation of herself, that she did not feel the absence so much as she might have done if her time had not been quite so much occupied by visitors from town," the old set," Frank Hardie, in particular, who called to leave messages for me every day or two. The messages she had not room to give.

A few weeks after came another letter, demanding from me both congratulation and condolence. She had seen so much of Frank Hardie that she could no longer be blind to his merits, and just when she had learned fully to appreciate them, he had, nobly overlooking her former cold and unjust treatment, offered her his hand. So much for happiness; and then for affliction; Melinda had positively refused to be bridesmaid-had written an indignant rejection of her request, with a severe remonstrance upon her having so forgotten herself, when she was no longer present to watch over her, declaring that if she persisted in her present intentions, she would never cross her threshold again.

"What distresses me the most," wrote Harriet, " is a tone of harshness and selfishness pervading the whole letter, which I never should

have apprehended from Melinda. What can be more trying to the feelings than to find traces of such weaknesses in a person whom one has loved and trusted! and this I must bear in silence, for Frank will not sympathize with me; the only thing of which I find cause to complain in him, is his disposition to treat such subjects with levity."

A visit to me was included in Harriet's wedding tour, and, as I had anticipated, I saw that in her new object of devotion she had found more than a substitute for Melinda Moon.

REMINISCENCES.

Now where the lovely moon begins her reign,
The pale stars gather, in the twilight sky;
Awake! musician, from thy harp again

Those cadences of thrilling harmony;
So wild, so sweet, they stir from their controul
All deep emotions slumbering in my soul.

Oh! hour of happiness-the world forgot,
The garish glitter of the daylight gone;
Apart from all, in this secluded spot

To sit, and commune with the past alone;
To pour the tribute of those unseen tears
O'er the lost joys and hopes of earlier years.

They come again, those pleasant summer days,
Again the blue still lake before me lies;
The golden sunshine o'er the water plays,

And far away, where lofty mountains rise,
Flash the bright torrents, glittering as they flow
Down to the lone secluded vales below.
They come again, the loved, the lost, the dead!

-Again we wander by the rushing streams;
Where pine-trees wave their dark boughs overhead,
Where on the wild flowers dew untrodden gleams,
We meet, a joyous group, to bid the hours
Pass swiftly on in those delightful bowers.
Where are they now! Some, far off countries hold-
Some, whom these eyes may never more behold,
Years must roll on ere we shall meet again:

Long in the stillness of the grave have lain ; Weeping hath been where once the tears were range, And hearts have changed we deemed could never change.

Oh! that youth's dreams of happiness might stay! Vain wish, breathed forth from many a stricken

heart;